Today, I've had a rather difficult day, missing dad. Mom and I were with my brother and his family, because their eldest son turned 28 yesterday, so we drank some wine. Thus we were late home and fell asleep even later. There was a lot of talk about dad and some crying and also happy memories.
This means that today I've been tired and more susceptible to the grief I guess. More vulnerable than other times. Or maybe it's just that some days the grief comes closer. Either way, I've been praying silently and out loud for a sign that dad is still with us, even though he's not here, y'know. People I've talked to who have lost near and dear ones have told me of experiences they've had that have told them that their loved ones are still around, even though we can't see them or talk to them (at least not while expecting an answer).
I was hoping that I would get some kind of tangible sign that dad is here. A bird who flies into the balcony, fearless, or ... I don't know ... *something*.
While wishing for this, I was knitting on a pair of socks and helping mom vacuum (not at the same time, mind you). But once we were done, I went into the bedroom.
A day or so ago, I'd been messing around with a ball of yarn that I'd dyed myself. I was planning on making a pair of socks, but decided against it because I kept tangling it up. Finally I gave up and tore off twoo lengths of yarn that were hopelessly knotted. I shoved them into the back of the shelf where I keep the yarn I brought with me to mom's (or that I bought while being here).
But there it was. One of those tangled little lengths of yarn was lying on the bed that I had just made not ten minutes earlier. I am absolutely *sure* that I hadn't put it there. So I asked mom if it had perhaps fallen off my shelf onto the floor and she'd picked it up and put it on the bed. She said no. She was sure she hadn't done it. We almost argued about it.
And yet, there it was, that little tangle of yarn that I had shoved into the back of the shelf. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been on the floor. I could have pulled it out when getting yarn without noticing. No biggie.
But how did it get onto the bed? I have not touched it! I am absolutely certain.
And in my heart, I know it was a greeting from dad. So I sat on the bed, starting to untangle the little length of yarn. (perhaps 15 feet of it or so), and it practically fell into a yarn length of its own volition, that I could wind up without trouble. Surprised, I went to the shelf and picked out the other length of yarn too, which was a little longer, maybe 20 feet. The knots practically unmade themselves in that small length of yarn and I could wind that too, without trouble.
Those knots that I only a couple of days ago had completely given up on untangling.
I'm not big on believing in things like this. But what should I think about this? Really?
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